CHAPTER EIGHT
The hallway was nondescript and bare. A few doors and several dim light disks were the only features on the gray walls, ceiling, and floor. Yet it was anything but an ordinary hallway.
Around the corner strode three figures, two tall men to either side of a short woman. Each was dressed in a black tunic and pants, black boots and gloves, and a billowing black cloak with the hood drawn up. Without speaking they walked to an undistinguished door and the woman waved it open. The room they entered was small, with barely enough room for the conference table and seven chairs that filled the space. The lighting was low, leaving the room dark and deep in shadow.
In the single chair at the head of the rectangular mahogany table sat a fourth figure. The woman, slightly taller than the female arrival, wore the same attire at the others. She did not rise to greet them. The two men took seats at the leader's left, the woman to her right. As they sat down they unclipped lightsaber handles from their belts and placed them on the table in front of them. The leader's hand rose from beneath the table and placed a lightsaber handle on the table as well. The black hoods continued to cover their faces.
"Welcome to the first meeting of our Council in over a millennium," the leader said. Her voice was a deep contralto, filled with sparks of malice and severity. "My plan is now in motion. The time for hidden reasons and secret details has ended. From today forward you will be full participants in my design."
"Yes, Master," the three others said in unison.
The leader turned to the woman. "Lady Delicti, what is the status at Xixus?"
"The bait has not yet drawn the prey, Master," she replied calmly.
"And what of the interrogation?"
"Her willpower is quite strong, Master. Some amount of pain and compulsion was necessary to break her. We learned what we could. She seems to be surprisingly ill-informed."
Beneath the cowl of her cloak the leader smiled. "Interesting. And the death of her husband?"
"She does not yet know of our involvement, Master. I am certain of it."
"Very good," the leader chuckled darkly. "I am confident Lady Savager will serve admirably with Lord Nefarious until your return." She turned to face the man sitting farther away on her left. "Lord Barbarus, how is General Tarkin?"
"He is well, Master," the grim, baritone voice answered quickly. "His treatment in prison was adequate, but he is old and no longer in prime health. With the greater nourishment and supplements we have provided, he will be in superior condition within weeks."
"Excellent. His assistance will improve our strategies considerably." She glanced quickly to the man at her left elbow. "In the meantime we will continue operations as planned."
The tall man remained silent as he nodded his assent.
"And Lady Delicti," the leader continued, "what of our other project?"
"Soon, Master," the shorter woman asserted proudly. "Our task is nearly completed. Lady Savager has performed remarkably with her… persuasion. Soon he will be one of us."
"Then perhaps tonight I will check on our progress with you," the leader chuckled in amusement. When her apprentice nodded, she chuckled again. "Perhaps I will even… persuade… him myself."
"Yes, Master," Lady Delicti agreed.
"Now it is time for the true purpose of our meeting. My plan is focused on a singular theme," the leader began slowly and deliberately. "We will not fail as Sidious did."
"Yes, Master," the trio responded in unison again.
"Sidious was a strategic genius, a mastermind beyond compare. His ambition was great, something to which we all aspire. And yet he failed. He failed for one reason, and one reason alone. A defect in his own character." She paused, her hidden eyes taking in each apprentice in turn. "Overconfidence. His overconfidence was his weakness."
"Yes, Master."
"Sidious attempted too much at once. We all have read his plans, studied his schemes. Had they succeeded, he would have destroyed the Republic and eliminated the Jedi Order in one triumphant stroke. Brilliant in theory. But only in theory."
"Yes, Master."
"Had the Chosen One not appeared, perhaps his plans could have proceeded as they were. But he did not adjust sufficiently them to account for his presence. He did not prepare for the possibility that his manipulations of the Chosen One might not succeed. It cost him his life and destroyed all that he worked so carefully to establish."
"Yes, Master."
"And so our new plan must address the most important issue first. The Chosen One can destroy us. The Jedi prophecy foresees it, and so does our own. And yet there are Jedi prophecies, and our prophecies, that have proven false. We must ensure this one is false as well."
"Yes, Master."
"This is why we begin with the Chosen One. Until he is gone, we cannot succeed. We have set the first trap for him, to lure him into a situation of our choosing where we control his fate. For now this is all I will say. But do not think other contingencies have not been considered, for they have. If we do not succeed while we hold the element of surprise, then we will turn the Chosen One against himself."
"Yes, Master."
"As a youth he drew upon our powers on more than one occasion before he repented. He used the Force to kill from anger and hate – repeatedly. He believes that he has cleansed the dark side from his soul. But that cannot be done. Once you set foot down the dark path, it remains in your spirit forever. It becomes your destiny. Even if Chosen One will not admit it, he knows it to be true. There is still darkness in him. And we will compel him to confront the dark side once more. It is a test he will not survive. He will join us or die."
"Yes, Master."
"But it is not sufficient to destroy the Chosen One. The prophecies did not foresee his offspring. This alone is evidence the predictions may not come to pass. But there can be little doubt his kin are a threat to us. His son and daughter already are powerful Jedi. The Force is quite strong in them; I can sense it. They must be destroyed as well, or we cannot be certain they will not interfere with our designs."
"Yes, Master."
"Be mindful, my young apprentices, of what is at stake. It is not enough to remove the Chosen One from our path and to destroy his Jedi children. His other son and daughter remain a threat to us. For their own children could inherit their grandfather's power. Just as it did not pass to all his offspring, it could pass to later generations through parents who are not themselves Jedi. It is for this reason all the Chosen One's children must be destroyed. The Chosen One is not the only threat to us. His entire bloodline must be wiped out. All of them."
"Yes, Master."
"Only after we have removed the Chosen One as an obstacle, and after we have drained his bloodline from the galaxy, can we turn to the next phase of our destiny. Sidious knew well that the entire Jedi Order must be annihilated. With the Chosen One gone it will be easy. There is a plan for it, but it must wait until the first step of our design is complete."
"Yes, Master."
"And then, only after the Jedi Order has been eliminated, can we fulfill the final phase of our grand scheme. Without the Jedi the Republic is nothing. It will fall beneath the boots of our troops and the swings of our lightsabers with little resistance. At the end we will have achieved all that Sidious sought to do. But we will succeed. We will succeed because we have learned from his errors and guarded against overconfidence and excessive ambition. We must be patient, my young apprentices. Patient."
"Yes, Master."
"This is our design. It is inevitable. I have foreseen it."
"Yes, Master."
The four dark figures sat in silence, pondering the weight of the destiny that had been passed down to them over hundreds and hundreds of years by secret pairs of master and apprentice. Now, finally, after so much time and preparation the utility of the Rule of Two had come to an end. They were a small band, enough to ensure victory but not so many as would breed the rivalries and assassinations that had weakened their forebears. The time for the ways of the past had ended, and the time to face the future had arrived.
"My young apprentices, pose to me any questions you may have," the leader said calmly.
"Master," Lady Delicti asked quietly, "the reason we were to be careful not to kill the Senator was so that she may serve as bait?"
"Yes, my young apprentice. You understand."
"Yes, Master," she nodded. "But should the Chosen One not come for her, what then? What if his wife insists upon negotiation? What if they seek a peaceful resolution?"
"A fair question," the leader smiled, her mouth barely visible in the dim lights of the room and the deep shadows of her hood. "We will not return her alive." A sinister chuckle passed her lips. "I suppose I will let Darth Nefarious have his fun. Then she will be killed. I will slay her myself, if possible. But any one of us will do."
"Yes, Master," Lady Delicti whispered.
"Any other questions, my young apprentices?" The leader shifted her head to gaze intensely at each of the three others at the table. "Then the meeting of the Council is adjourned." The four dark figures rose from their chairs and clipped their lightsaber handles back to their belts.
Before they headed to the door, Barbarus affected a deep, hoarse voice. "At last we will reveal ourselves to the Jedi. At last we will have revenge."
His three colleagues burst out in laughter, which he immediately joined. It took several minutes for them to regain their composure.
"What have I told you about the old holodiaries, Lord Barbarus?" the leader demanded in a voice filled with attempted but unsuccessful sinister tones.
"To leave them be," he replied through his last fits of mirth.
"Lord Maul was too single-minded, my young apprentices," the leader explained. "Hatred gives us power. Their failure to hate makes the Jedi weak. But do not let your hatred so control your mind that you cannot understand its proper role. Hatred is our fuel. It is not our purpose."
"Yes, Master," the three apprentices said quietly, by now utterly and profoundly serious.
"There will be no penance, Lord Barbarus, so long as you do not repeat this."
"Yes, Master Vengous, of course."
With that the four dark figures left the room, leaving its pale lights and grim shadows behind them.
---
Bryon Skywalker carefully moved the crosshairs of his telescopic scope past each member of the New Justice delegation at the peace summit on Malastare. There were eight negotiators at the main table and sixty-four assistants, translators, and other aides in the rows of chairs behind them. Purportedly they had agreed to the same security arrangement as the Republic delegates: soldiers in the background to provide protection, with no armed individuals on the floor of the Great Hall. Bryon did not trust the New Justice representatives in the slightest.
He lay in a prone position on the floor of one of the four small balconies in the corners of the ceiling of the spacious, extravagant room, the one over the right shoulders of the Republic team. Several plain cushions supported his weight and prevented his black armored suit from touching the stone floor. The end of the long barrel of his sniper rifle swiveled on its tripod, guided by the fingers of his left hand and his right on the grip. For now his trigger finger rested along the underside of the thin metal bar that shielded the trigger. As he swept the crosshairs over the delegates again he squeezed off an imaginary shot at each individual. In this arrangement he determined could take out his thirty-six targets within ten seconds.
The other thirty-six were the responsibility of Will Graff, who lay in an identical sniper's perch on the balcony to his left. He and Bryon were by far the most skilled long-range shooters in the platoon, so this task naturally fell to them. In addition, from this vantage point they had the best possible view to give additional orders should the necessity arise. Beneath them the nearly fifty Special Forces soldiers under their command had secured the lower balconies, the entrances, and the tunnels on the Republic side of the Great Hall.
Bryon drew his scope away from the floor and scanned the chamber. He was surprised to see that the New Justice security team had not placed snipers in their corresponding balconies across the arching, beautifully painted ceiling. One of his men below was on the watch for them, however, and knew exactly where to shoot if necessary. There were Vyhrragian soldiers on the lower balconies and the rear areas of the floor of the hall, although these men did not wear the distinctive green fatigues and tan body armor of the brownshirts. Nevertheless, Bryon assumed these guards were the highly skilled shocktroops, even if they did not dress like it.
The Special Forces were maintaining comlink silence to minimize the ability of the Vyhrragians to monitor them and determine their strategy. As the fourth hour of the summit began, it was time for the brief status check. In his ear Bryon heard the soft hiss of static as the comlink activated.
"Shaak Base, standing by," said the communications officer below.
Bryon always liked to use code words that reminded him of Naboo.
Shaak One, Two, Three, and Four checked in without elaboration. "Shaak Sun, all clear," Will's whispered voice announced over the feed, barely audible over the buzz on the line.
"Shaak Moon, all clear," Bryon said quietly.
"Shaak Base out." No news was good news.
Bryon scanned the room again and again, concentrating on every detail and watching every movement and motion below. Nothing was amiss. And perhaps nothing would be. But Bryon was reluctant to accept it. As his scope slowly traced precise loops through the seated delegates, Bryon's mind brought him back to their last mission.
The Republic's spies had determined that a forested moon in one of the first systems to join the New Justice movement was being used as a principal base for the Vyhrragian piracy attacks along the Corellian Trade Spine. The strikes were disrupting commercial traffic and causing considerable consternation in the Senate, and a decision had been made in the highest levels of the Navy and Army to wipe out the pirates' staging ground.
Bryon's platoon had been inserted a short distance from the Vyhrragian compound. Triple-checked reports told them to expect about two hundred brownshirts on guard. Instead they launched their initial attacks on the perimeter of the base only to discover that an unanticipated troop ship was unloading and their opponents numbered nearly one thousand. And their retraction team was not due for another hour. Improvising on the run, half of the platoon feigned retreat while the others stormed directly into the brownshirts toward the command center. After a pair of thermal detonators destroyed the bunker and left the brownshirts without communications or control facilities, the Special Forces troops systematically fanned out across the base to take control.
In the end all of his men miraculously had survived. The brownshirts were not so lucky; to the last man they had refused to be taken alive.
Bryon had led a massacre.
He found it difficult to believe that the intelligence reports could have been so wrong. Perhaps supporters of the Supreme Chancellor had sought to use a failed covert strike as evidence that war would accomplish nothing. Or perhaps proponents of war with Argis had hoped to trigger a wider conflict with the retaliation that would be certain to follow a failed operation so deep behind Vyhrragian lines. His platoon's victory, however, would not expose the truth. The Vyhrragians could not admit the staggering defeat, and neither side of the Republic could gain from it. The Chancellor's faction would not want to admit the success of the very measures they opposed, and the warmongers would not benefit from wide publicity of unmitigated butchery.
Bryon believed his units had been sent to the slaughter. Why, he still had no idea.
As he trained the rifle's sight on the lead New Justice negotiator and let his finger slide up to rest against the trigger, he wondered whether his platoon had been set up for disaster this time too.
---
Hours later Bryon made his way slowly down the yellow-and-red hotel hallway toward the suite housing the Naboo contingent of the Republic delegates. He was pleasantly surprised that nothing untoward had occurred at the summit. So far. And he was very relieved that for the first mission in a long time he hadn't had to kill anyone. So far. With other Army soldiers securing the hotel, he had been able to remove his armor and change into simple black fatigues. He'd strapped a pair of large blaster pistols to his hips, though, just in case. He couldn't help it.
Sabé would be busy, he knew, but Bryon had not yet had the chance to see her privately. Even if the only thing they could do was share brief hello, he would be satisfied. He couldn't exactly spend all this time here protecting her mother and then tell Sarré he hadn't actually spoken with her.
By the time he entered the suite, he mostly had managed to calm his thoughts. The intensity of his focus was necessary for success. Nevertheless, sometimes he felt like he became a different person when his mind was concentrating so fiercely on his surroundings, when his eyes were scanning for any little movements in the shadows, when his ears were listening for anything abnormal, and when his trigger finger was ready to fire a kill shot at anyone, anywhere, anytime, for any reason. It was necessary to be that way and he knew it. But it was cold-blooded. And that bothered him.
He stayed close to the walls of the large, elegantly appointed receiving room, avoiding the small crowd of staff and the dozen or so Naboo soldiers standing guard. Before he could locate Sabé a small, happy figure bounded his way.
Nalé had a spring in her step, the kind common to those whose youthful innocence as yet had made no accommodation for the disillusionment and cynicism of adulthood. "Hey, Bryon," she smiled as she rushed to him and gave him a hug.
"Hi, Nalé," he grinned, squeezing her tight enough to make her squirm as she rested her head against his breastbone. "Is your mother around?"
"She's meeting with Senator Rylla in his suite," Nalé answered, breaking the friendly embrace. "She'll be back pretty soon, though, I think. How's Sarré?"
Bryon looked at her quizzically. Does she know I was just with her? Or is she assuming I've talked to her? He decided to play it casually. "She's fine."
Nalé smirked. "I know you were both at Sullust. So tell me. Have you done it yet?"
Bryon felt his face flushing but tried to stay cool. "Done what?" He would play dumb to force her hand and maybe this subject would go away.
"Right. Like you don't know what I mean."
"It's none of your business."
"So that's yes," Nalé winked.
Now she had trapped him. "Fine. You win." Bryon glared hard into Nalé's brown eyes, distracting her long enough to shift his right hand onto the handle of his pistol and switch the setting to stun. Not that he was going to use it on her, of course, but it made him feel better. "No. We haven't."
"Why not?"
"That is most definitely none of your business."
"Oh," she smirked again. "Did you have a problem?" The look in her eyes was smoldering and mischievous.
Bryon could not believe he was having this conversation with Sarré's fifteen-year-old sister. But he had no idea at all how to extricate himself. "No," he insisted far more vehemently than he had intended. "We decided to wait. We decided that a while ago."
"To wait for what? Your birthday or something?"
This was getting worse and worse every second and still he could think of nowhere to go with it instead. Maybe he should shoot her. "No. Until we're married."
The admission did not faze Nalé in the slightest and she continued without missing a beat. "Why?"
Bryon now was completely baffled. He had been certain that mentioning the concept of he and Sarré getting married would shock Nalé into submission and distract her from the conversation entirely. Apparently not. Apparently she was perfectly at ease with the idea.
"Why?" she asked again, unimpressed by his silence.
"Why? We were both raised on Naboo. It's part of our culture, our heritage, our values. We're supposed to wait. And it's the right thing to do."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Nalé laughed in frustration. "You love each other. Nobody does that anymore. Your parents didn't. My parents didn't. Leia…"
In the name of all that is sacred in the universe, stop now! If you include yourself in this list I'm going to die.
She was so engrossed in tormenting him she didn't see the changed expression on his face. "…and Jarren didn't. And…"
"Enough!" The word was deep and dark. Angry. Vicious. His mission voice. He hadn't meant to use it with her. But it was too late.
Nalé stared at him. There was fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down at the floor. "I was just trying to be funny. I was only teasing you."
"I know," Bryon replied calmly. "I'm sorry. I overreacted." He reached out and pulled Nalé into a hug again. "I'm really sorry." He held her close for a few seconds to be sure she got the point.
Nalé stepped back again. "It's okay." She poked him squarely in the middle of his chest with one finger. "Look, I know you and Sarré are in love. Really in love. Everyone assumes you're going to get married. But this, well, nobody knows for sure about you guys. So I just wanted to be the first to know, that's all. I'm never the first one to know anything. I wanted to get the jump on my mom or your mom or Leia for once. Just once."
Bryon smiled. "Well, then you did win today after all." She was looking at him with a very confused expression on her face. "We haven't told anyone about this decision. You're the first to know."
Nalé's grin brightened and split all the way across her face. "You're the best, Bryon!" Then something caught her eyes behind him and distracted her. "Here comes my mom," she indicated with a tilt of her head. "I should let you talk to her."
"Thank you," Bryon nodded. He started to turn around to go meet up with Sabé. He turned back when he heard Nalé's voice again.
"Bryon?"
"Yes?"
"I think it's great what you're doing. What you and my sister decided. I think it's great."
He could tell she was being completely sincere. "Thanks," he smiled.
She winked at him again. "Just don't tell Sarré I said so, okay?"
He wouldn't deprive the sisters of their own version of this truly uncomfortable discussion. "I won't. I promise." Then he spun on his heel and squeezed his way past the staff to greet her mother.
Sabé saw him coming. "Bryon! It's so good to see you," she smiled broadly, pulling him into a warm embrace.
"Hello, Sabé," he replied happily. Taking a step back from her, he marveled at how much she still resembled his mother. Not enough to pass for her decoy anymore, perhaps, but in her royal blue gown and elaborate Naboo hairstyle she really did look a lot like Padmé.
"Come with me for a moment," Sabé requested, taking Bryon by the hand and pulling him toward the converted bedchamber temporarily serving as her private office. Once inside she waved the door closed behind them. "You're enormous," she said simply.
He wasn't quite sure what that meant. "Thank you?"
"Oh, Bryon, I don't mean anything by it. It's just that every time I see you, it seems like you've grown more."
"Well, I'm not any taller than last year," he declared, "but I have gained some weight." He smirked just like his father. "All of it muscle."
Sabé laughed at the similarity of the facial tic. "That I believe." She flopped unceremoniously into the chair at her desk. "What's the latest from Sullust? How is your mother holding up? How is everyone?"
Bryon did his best to explain what he knew about the plans being made aboard the Invictus, although he hadn't been able to receive an update yet. And he tried to reassure Sabé as much as he could about Padmé and Sarré and the others. "And how is the summit?"
"It's worthless," Sabé groaned. "Our team is giving everything away, and Argis' people are giving nothing in return. Whatever deal is struck is going to be a disgrace. But there's little I can do to stop it." Then Sabé smiled. "So you finally got to see Sarré again. How did that go?"
"Well," he said quietly. "It went well." For once he did not feel anxious talking about this. He couldn't figure out why, although maybe it simply was that his confession to Nalé had lifted a heavy weight from his spirit. "I really missed her. And I hadn't treated her right. I stayed away from her when really what I need more than anything was her. I don't know why I did that. I realize now I was wrong and I won't do it again. Ever. I got to apologize, and I think she forgave me. At least I hope so."
Sabé was astonished at the way he had spilled his feelings to her so openly. It seemed very unlike him. And that was a good thing. She pushed off the armrests of her chair and stepped over to stand in front of him. She looked deeply into his eyes and squeezed his left hand with her right. "Of course she did, Bryon. She loves you."
Bryon blushed deeply and nodded shyly. He felt ridiculous. A few minutes ago he had been a cold, determined soldier. Now talking about Sarré had turned him into a blubbering fool. And he realized the words were leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "I love her too."
"No kidding," she laughed. Then she winked. "Quit trying to hide it."